Chapter 1
Matthew Chandler stared at the petite golden-haired lady standing in front of him. Her perfect bow-shaped lips formed a delightful pout. Her wide blue eyes gazed up as if he were a wise scholar with the answers to all life’s weird and wonderful mysteries.
He had seen desire flash in many a woman’s eye, but he had never seen hope. It was certainly a novelty.
“Do you want to marry Lord Morford?” Matthew gestured to his friend whose persistent shuffling showed a desperate need to find another solution to their impending problem.
Something had to be done.
In a matter of minutes, the matrons heading their way would enter the secluded corner of Lord Holbrook’s garden. One could only imagine the look of horror on the ladies faces upon discovering a dishevelled maiden hiding behind the shrubbery with two rogues.
“No.” Miss Smythe glanced at Tristan’s handsome countenance, her gaze passing over him as one would a faded bonnet in a shop window. “I do not want to marry Lord Morford. But what else can I do?”
Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. “My mother knows how to execute a cunning plan and lured us both out here. She insists I wed Miss Smythe. Thank you for alerting us to the danger, Chandler, but I see no other option.”
With a raised brow, Matthew considered the torn bodice of Miss Smythe’s gown. A frustrated groan left his lips. Regardless of the lady's wishes, Tristan would make her an offer of marriage. He would not let an innocent woman suffer the shame of a ruined reputation.
“May I offer another suggestion?” Matthew’s gaze fell to the soft curve of Miss Smythe’s breasts. “If you do not want to marry Lord Morford, then perhaps you might marry me.” The words tumbled from his mouth with surprising ease.
Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. “What the blazes? We are trying to salvage the lady’s reputation, not ruin it beyond redemption.”
Matthew smiled as Miss Smythe’s curious gaze drifted over the breadth of his chest. She bit down on her bottom lip, and devil take him, desire flashed in her eyes.
How intriguing.
This timid little creature might prove far more entertaining than he’d suspected.
“Is … is that an offer, sir?” She batted her long lashes more times than he cared to count.
From her flirtatious tone, he knew he’d captured her interest. Perhaps the evening would not be a complete disaster. And if his information proved correct, the lady had a decent enough dowry to ease his financial burden.
“It is,” he replied with an air of confidence.
Tristan inhaled deeply. “I can’t let you do that.”
Matthew shrugged. “It is not your decision to make.” Indeed, he had a sudden desire to get rid of his friend, to be alone with the delightful Miss Smythe and to give the ravenous gossips something scandalous to devour.
The low hum of feminine chatter alerted him to the matrons’ approach. Tristan had less than a minute if he planned to make his escape through the shrubbery. The guests wandering about at the top of the garden would not suspect a solitary gentleman of any impropriety.
“What do you want to do, Miss Smythe?” Tristan said with some impatience.
Miss Smythe pursed her luscious lips and glanced down at her slippers. One could almost hear the cogs turning as she considered her options.
“Are you able to provide for me, sir?”
Matthew struggled to suppress an arrogant smirk. The lady would have no complaints. Of that he was certain. “Have no fear. I shall ensure all your needs are met.”
A pink blush touched Miss Smythe’s cheeks, and she inclined her head. “Then I accept.”
Tristan muttered a curse, turned and threw his hands in the air.
A pleasurable thrum of anticipation raced through Matthew’s veins at the prospect of bedding the beauty before him.
How odd.
The sensation soothed his bruised pride. It made him forget that, a mere thirty minutes before, he had played in the most notorious card game of the Season, and lost far more than he had intended.
“You need to leave, Tristan.” A sudden urgency to claim Miss Smythe’s soft lips took hold. “You need to leave now.” He held Miss Smythe's gaze as he gestured to the topiary archway. “Call on me tomorrow. Go before it’s too late.”
Tristan crept towards the exit, hesitated every third step before disappearing into the shadows.
With no time to waste, Matthew pulled Miss Smythe into his arms. The gasp that left her lips contained a hint of excitement. Her dainty hand came to rest on his chest, her fingers fluttering over his heart. It felt oddly reassuring, though he resisted the urge to inform her that the organ was nothing but a cold, hard lump of stone.
“When people gossip about our tryst, what do you want them to say about us?” Matthew asked. She shivered as his words breezed across her cheek. Such sensitivity to his touch would bode well for their coupling. “Is this to be a ravishing? Do you wish to portray a naive woman lured into a trap by a rogue?”
Miss Smythe swallowed deeply as her gaze lingered on his mouth. “Well, I do not want people to think me foolish.” She shook her head. “No,” she added with a hint of determination. “Given the choice, I would like them to say it is a love match. Everyone must think we were so consumed with passion we lost our heads.”
Convincing others he was in love was far beyond the realms of his capabilities. Love was a word foreign to him. The word made the muscles in his shoulders tight, tense. The mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a foul flavour only superseded by the word ‘trust’.
Passion, on the other hand, came as easy as breathing air. If the lady wanted to experience pure carnal lust, he would gladly give it to her.
“That is what I hoped you would say.” T